R.I.P., Koko. Honestly, I feel like I hardly knew ye. Other than a live cassette that I found in my brother’s collection as a kid, I never engaged myself with her music. What a voice. The Windy City will miss you, I’m sure.

ADDENDUM 6/4, 2:44 PM: And might I take this opportunity to express a sense of self-disgust. I never, ever listen to The Blues for the specific way that it makes me feel. You see, I have an association with The Blues that includes white people in medium-sized cities drinking Bud Light on waterfronts. This is very unfortunate. The Blues has things to teach us, but my tendency to avoid a certain type of audience leads me away from ever learning whatever lesson may lie within it. I’m not so sure if it’s a simple matter of white people bastardizing an entire genre, though that may be the case. But there’s just something so inherently LAME about the blues music that I’ve been exposed to. It goes so far that I cringe every time I listen to a certain type of chord progression. Immediately I’m taken to a humid Peoria riverfront, with a sea full of white people trying to get down. This is a place I don’t want to go in my mind.

But upon discovering Koko Taylor’s powerful instrument, I think I’m ready to disassociate.